The death of Edward may be said to have ensured the ultimate success of Bruce’s ambitious enterprise. “The two greatest (i.e., most puissant) knights in Europe at that period,” says Froissart, “were king Edward and Robert Bruce.” Edward being removed, Bruce found no equal in the field. Not only so, but there was opposed to him, in Edward’s room, the weakest and most incompetent monarch that ever sat on the throne of England. It was nearly inevitable, therefore, that he should entirely succeed in the enterprise to which he had devoted himself. He decided the question of Scottish independence at Bannockburn, inflicting on the English the greatest defeat they had received since the battle of Hastings. This victory established him on the throne of Scotland, of which he held entire possession for the remainder of his life.
One very serious and very deplorable mistake has been made in modern times, in misinterpreting all these events, and, instead of seeing in them another successful Norman enterprise,—regarding them as an effort of the highest “patriotism.” Thus Bruce is described by Sir Walter Scott as “the vindicator of his country’s liberty”—as one who had adopted “the unalterable resolution, either to free his country or to perish in the attempt;”[168] while Hume unhesitatingly tells us, that “Bruce had long harboured in his breast the design of freeing his enslaved country;” and a writer of our own day styles him “the most heroic, as well as the most patriotic, monarch which Scotland has ever produced.”
It is difficult to imagine a greater abuse of language than this. Patriotism is a love of country; and a real patriot will labour and suffer, and, if needful, will die for his country; but Robert Bruce conspired against his country, fought against his country, and, in the end, inflicted upon his country the most grievous injuries. If this be “patriotism,” then words have lost their meaning.
“Bruce was an Englishman;”—we quote the words of a volume put forth by a committee of Scottish gentlemen, “Bruce by descent was an Englishman, and probably so by affection as well as interest.”[169]
The son of a great Yorkshire baron, and heir to ninety‐four English lordships and to two Scottish estates, he was born, as we have seen, in the metropolis of England, a few weeks before Edward’s coronation. We entirely accept, therefore, the statement of the Wallace Documents, that “Bruce was an Englishman;”—but we read with hesitation the rest of the sentence—“and probably so by affection as well as interest.” We believe that Sir Walter Scott formed a more accurate estimate of these matters when he wrote, concerning the Norman knights who were settled in Scotland, that “Two or three generations had not converted Normans into Scots; in fact, the Normans were neither by birth nor manners accessible to the emotions which constitute patriotism.” “The ideal perfection of the knight‐errant was, to wander from land to land in quest of renown; to gain earldoms, kingdoms, nay, empires, by the sword; and to sit down a settler on his acquisitions, without looking back on the land which gave him life.”[170] This vivid sketch seems as if it had been meant to describe a Robert de Brus.
Still, so long as Edward could keep the field, the young aspirant remained in quietness; but when he had seen distinctly that the great captain’s campaigns were ended, Bruce came boldly to the front, and soon won a kingdom for himself. Such honour and credit as belong to a feat of this kind ought to be awarded to Bruce; but this sort of merit should not be confounded with the far higher virtue of real “patriotism.”
Bruce’s success made him to all succeeding ages a hero. “So long as thou doest well unto thyself,” says the Psalmist, “men will speak good of thee.” With this sort of popular and vulgar applause we shall not quarrel, but the more serious and thoughtful students of history should pause before they award a nobler kind of praise to a mere knight‐errant of the Norman breed.
His success placed him on the throne of Scotland, and maintained him on that throne to the end of his life; and yet it may be questioned whether, even on the lowest view, of mere material and personal advantage, his success was such as a man might look back upon with satisfaction. He was crowned king at Scone in March, 1306. Edward’s death assured to him the quiet possession of that throne, and he did, in fact, retain it until 1331, when he died. Fourteen years of uncertain warfare, and then eleven years of settled dominion, made up the whole of his kingly career. He had indeed succeeded, but such a success was scarcely better than failure. His family had been destroyed. Of a brotherhood of five gallant knights who took part in the murder of Comyn, he, the king, was, in 1318, the sole survivor. Three of his brothers had perished on the scaffold before a year had been completed from Comyn’s death; and the fourth, endeavouring to find for himself a throne in Ireland, died in the attempt; and he, the beginner of the strife, was now left alone. His wife for several years was held in captivity in England; he himself died of leprosy in 1331, and his son spent a large portion of his life in an English prison. On the son’s death the line of Bruce ended, and that of Stewart came in its stead—a line scarcely to be paralleled in history for disaster, wretchedness, and disgrace.[171] This being the measure of Bruce’s success, it may be questioned whether failure would not have been on the whole preferable, so far as he personally was concerned.
But what of Scotland? Are the usual phrases of “deliverance,” “independence,” “freedom from a foreign yoke,” etc., properly applied to this case? In the year 1603, Scotland became permanently united to England, and has ever since been ruled by governments sitting at Westminster. Has this change been calamitous for Scotland? Is there a Scotchman living, whose opinion is worth a straw, who would desire to see Bruce’s enterprise repeated, and a new Scottish monarchy established?